


End of the Line

by girl_aflame



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:29:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_aflame/pseuds/girl_aflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never slept on the train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> A weird little one-shot 'round midnight. Happy Halloween!

She never slept on the train. (That rule also followed _never buy any meal that you can make for yourself_ and _always text Prim to make sure she made it home okay_.)

The hard plastic seats were too tough for resting, anyway; after her first week of work, she’d walked around like a hunchback all weekend. “How do people live this way?” she’d said to Gale, who had just smirked at her as he tugged on his boots for his shift. 

“Fucking money,” he’d replied.

No more, no less. 

But she was up all night hate-texting him ("I know u still have my nives," he’d written – post-move-out problems) and by the time she sat next to the window after work, briefcase clanking to the ground, the pale white-gray sky looked as enthusiastic as she felt. 

A heavyset man took the seat next to her, the couple behind her immediately began whispering, punctuated by wet kisses, the guy across the aisle let his phone tweet and tweet until he answered – and she couldn’t laugh at it, couldn’t muster up the energy to hate it, either. Every promise she made on Monday morning – applying to jobs this weekend or bust – wound up in Friday night defeat. All she wanted by then was sleep. Sometimes she woke up and the sun was already going down again on Saturday.

It was safe to sleep at home. When she woke up screaming, nobody ran to call the police or shake her awake. Gale used to, but it didn’t help. It didn’t stop the dreams of burning buildings and people jumping to their deaths. The ones that started when she was a teenager and only increased in severity and duration for the past ten years. Every night, she watched herself burn. She watched Gale run out of the fire screaming. There were other faces and voices, too, and she always woke up with her ears hurting from all of the cacophony.

“What do you think it all means?” she used to ask, and he’d tried to help her find an answer. ( _Maybe you’re, I dunno, stressed or something? Or should try sleeping with a fan on?_ ) But by now she’d described the dreams in such vivid detail to Gale over the years that he seemed to have become desensitized to them by proxy. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Gale had finally said. “How can you even manage to sleep this much with your nightmares? No normal person would do it.”

“Because everything has to do with you,” she’d said, rolling her eyes. 

He hadn’t taken so well to that. 

The train rattled away from the platform.

She had every station name memorized, knew exactly the clientele getting on and off – college students piling on at this one, going home for the weekend – the electricians, beers in hand, striding away here. 

With her head against the window, bucking with every bump over the rails, she kept one eye on the man next to her. He’d already leaned back, snoring deeply. Hopefully he’d get off soon, but somehow she always ended up stuck with someone to find that they were riding all the way with her to the same destination: the second-to-last stop on the line. 

The buildings flashed by, sooty and half-blown out from old fires and half-hearted attempts to rebuild. Boarded-up windows. Bodega signs, some of the letters missing. Here and there, scrawny-ass trees dropped between the pavement like afterthoughts. Kind of how she felt, really. 

She closed her eyes. 

She dreamed in station names, one after the other. She woke a little at each one as the train slowed and footsteps clamored to the exit. Eventually, the tweets across the aisle stopped. Then the couple’s sweet nothings were silenced. 

And then…

Resurfacing became more difficult. _Twelve_ , she kept thinking, but the recorded voice hadn’t reached it.

And then…

And then.

…

The first thing she noticed was the lack of the man next to her. Her hand had drifted to his seat. It was cold. 

The next thing she noticed were the trees, a whole forest of them clamoring close to the platform, muting the final rays of sunlight. They’d be beautiful if their deep brown hues hadn’t turned gray-brown. 

The final thing she noticed was that the train had stopped, and not a single person remained in her car.

Shit.

She was at the end of the line.

“Excuse me?” she called out, searching for the conductor, but nobody answered. 

All right. So she’d take the next train back or jump in a taxi. 

Her boots clicked too loudly on the floor as she walked to the door, which hung open. A blast of cool wind hit her as she stepped onto the platform. The digital sign above her head flashed “ON TIME” but no other information. 

And no other people. The tiny parking lot was empty save an overturned trash can, but even that didn’t have any contents spilling out. Like it’d been days since people had come here. Years. 

She hurried over to the information window. Curtain drawn, sign up. CLOSED. 

The tree branches rattled and hissed in the wind. 

What was the alternative, camping out in the train until it decided to reverse its journey? _This is why you don’t fall asleep on public transportation!_

She texted Gale. Nothing. She called him, hoping to hear his gruff voice: “What?” he’d probably spit out. But he’d still come and get her. They were accustomed to using one another by now.

But the call didn’t even make it to voicemail. It rang and rang and eventually gave up. 

“Where are you going?”

She screamed.

And whirled around.

Where the hell did he come from? Tall, blond, and pale. Like she was the one who had come out of nowhere, not him. 

He held up his palms, then tucked them away. “Sorry. Just, um, it’s unusual to see other people here. You look lost.”

Her heart pounded painfully. “Well, I’m not.”

Lie of the century.

“All right, then.” The man stood a safe distance away. She eyed his broad shoulders and the movement of his hands as he tucked them into his pockets. No sign of a weapon. He was strong, she could see that by the ripples in his arms. But she was fast and had a black belt back when her family could afford tae kwon do lessons.

And like it or not, he was her only hope. 

“When does the train go back?” she said, heart still thumping. 

“Tomorrow morning.” The man rocked back on his heels and started whistling. The breeze settled then, almost like it was listening. “9:02.”

Her hand clenched around the phone, willing it to vibrate. C’mon, Gale. Nothing. 

“Right,” she said a beat too late. 

The man’s pale skin made his blue eyes brighter in contrast. Or maybe that was from the final kick of light through the trees. He hadn’t moved any closer but she stepped back anyway.

And her stomach growled. 

He smiled and felt around in his back pocket. “I have an energy bar if you need something. Here.” 

She caught it with one hand and inspected it for signs of tampering, possible injections. All clear. “Thanks,” she said, taking a tiny bite. Chalky, but instant improvement.

He titled his head. “It’s good to see you again, Katniss. I was wondering when you’d get here.”

She almost choked, spitting up bits of energy bar onto the platform. “What—” Her mouth was sticky “—What did you just say?”

“Katniss Everdeen. I met you in the war. Remember? You, me, that other one.” His forehead scrunched. “Storm? Gale.”

“What war?” she managed. The rest of the energy bar hung slack in her hand. 

“My memory’s not so good,” he admitted, but all the same his shoulders straightened with certainty. “I think…um, the second one. The first one was before our time, at least that’s what everyone always says.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted, but her mind returned to the blown-out buildings she saw every day from the train window. There could have been a war.

Except why didn’t she remember it?

“I know you have nightmares like I do.” His voice dropped and she automatically clasped her arms, shivering. God, it was cold. “The fires. The…” He swallowed, becoming even paler. “The bodies.”

“No,” she said weakly. 

How did he know about the nightmares?

“Gale was okay, though,” he said like it was some reassurance. 

“I know that,” she snapped. “Except he won’t answer his damn phone.”

He smiled sadly. “I always liked that about you. Your unwillingness to believe anyone’s bullshit.”

“Like yours?”

“If only it were.”

It was becoming more difficult to see. She’d have to make a choice, and soon. Ditch the weirdo and start walking, hoping for town. Call the police. Call and call Gale. 

“Can you help me get out of here?” She couldn’t ignore the desperate pitch of her voice. What the hell was the guy doing here, anyway, with no train out until morning? What had happened to his memory?

What had happened to hers? 

“I count my scars sometimes,” he said. “But I always lose track, no matter how many times I do it. What about you?”

Dreams of smoke and flame. Chunks of hair disintegrated like ash. 

She touched her forehead and felt a long, curved lump. 

“That one looks like it hurts,” he said, stepping closer. 

Her heart slowed, like panic had become too exhausting and it needed to recover. She needed to run, that was what. Her chest heaved in slow, agonizing movements. 

Breathing in smoke again. 

Legs planted to the ground, heavy as though they’d sprinted down the stairs and back up again.

“Why are you here,” she said, “if you’re not going to help me?”

He opened his palms and this time she saw they were crisscrossed with harsh pink lines. “I was waiting for you.”

She was already shaking her head. No. No. No. “That’s not possible—”

“Haymitch said you’d take a while. The stubborn ones always do, according to him.”

Haymitch. The stir of a man yelling in a dream, gray eyes wild.

No. Not real. 

“You don’t have to fight now that you’re here.” His voice became soothing, softer. 

But all she felt was colder. 

She closed her eyes. Maybe this was sleeping and if she swam upward, if she ran out of that burning building fast enough, she’d wake up to the sound of “This station is Twelve” and the creaking of the seat as the large man next to her stood up. 

She kept them squeezed, ignoring the man’s whispers. She kept her arms wrapped tight, feeling broken lines of skin under her fingertips. Knowing that if she released a hand and reached back to her braid, she’d find chunks missing.

She squeezed until she saw sparks and the boy’s whispers had hushed.

And then. 

And then there were flames.


End file.
